The Little Things
by onlyonceinforever
Summary: When Elliot gets shot on the job, Olivia blames herself. :ONESHOT:


**Disclaimer: Hmm... I think we all know I don't own anything of value by this point.**

**A/N: All right, another fic that I got inspiration for when reading someone else's work, specifically Betrayal In the First Degree by AllAboutTheWriting. Awesome fic, and I love poor, brooding, tortured Elliot. But then again, who doesn't? Oh, that's right - my good friend Brian Cassidy a.k.a. Kerri Bailey.**

**The LIttle Things**

You know, you never really take the time out to stop and think until you're forced to. It's sad, really. It shouldn't take someone you care about being on the verge on death to make you realize and appreciate them. It really shouldn't.

How do I know? Because that's the situation I'm in right now. Well, it's more Elliot, my partner, that's in that situation right now, since he's the one lying in the hospital bed with numerous tubes sticking out of him.

It had started out like any normal day on the job - we get the call, go out, apprehend, prosecute, make a few wise-ass quips on the way. But this time things didn't go exactly according to plan. Everything was fine up until we went to cuff the guy. Well, I was cuffing him, Elliot was just standing by, making sure nothing went awry. But then something did happen.

The perp caught me off guard, and managed to knock me down before pulling out a hidden gun and aiming it at Elliot. Everything moved in slow motion for a moment as he pulled the trigger- the bullet exiting the gun, cutting through the air, Elliot's look of shock, mine of horror, then the impact. It bored straight into his chest, and then he was down. As if that wasn't bad enough, the perp then tried to pounce on the already-down man and beat him into oblivion. Luckily, I regained my senses before that could happen and pulled my own gun, taking him down in two clean shots.

I ran over to Elliot, who was on the ground and losing blood fast. I called for a bus, and did the best I could to stem the flow with my jacket. He was hardly breathing, and his pulse had slowed dangerously. The paramedics couldn't get there fast enough for me. Every second that passed seemed like an hour. After what seemed like forever, the ambulance came and hauled my partner off to the nearest hospital. And it was all my fault.

I rode with them in the bus, monitoring Elliot closely for any signs of life, like the paramedics with their medical knowledge didn't suffice. A mile from the hospital, he went into cardiac arrest. My heart stopped as his did, and by breath caught in my throat as they shocked him, once, twice. On the third try, the sinus rhythm returned to normal, and I could breathe easy again. Well, as easily as the situation would allow, that is.

Once we got to the hospital, there was nothing I could do anymore. I just stood there as they whisked my partner away to conduct test after test, while I had no idea what was going on, or even if he was going to be okay. I set to work on the massive amount of paperwork attributed to hospital admissions, but not before calling Cragen and informing him of recent developments. He told me he would call Elliot's wife - or ex-wife, or whatever they were at the moment - and not to worry. Yeah, right.

It didn't take long before Cragen showed up at the hospital, Munch and Fin in tow. They asked how Elliot was, and I could only shake my head, since I didn't know. That's one of the major things that I hate, absolutely _hate_ about hospitals - nobody ever tells you anything until it's about to be too late. It's as if they think that by making you wait, things will suddenly become all better. In reality, things can only get worse with all the waiting, and I'm not just talking about the patients.

Finally, a doctor in the standard long, white lab coat came out, looking for someone affiliated with Elliot Stabler. Cragen let me go, since he knew how much my partner meant to me. For that, at least, I was grateful. But it also filled me with an overwhelming sense of dread, as if he was only letting me know first so that I could be the one to break the bad news to them.

I asked how Elliot was doing, only to receive silence. It was only for a moment, the way most people pause before making a response, but it seemed like it took so much longer than that.

"Mr. Stabler has sustained very serious injuries. The bullet passed into his chest, puncturing a lung and cracking and thereby displacing several ribs. We managed to re-inflate the lung and stop the bleeding, but-"

I cut him off, to impatient to stand around all day listening to this crackpot spewing medical terms that I could never hope to understand.

"Is he going to live?"

The doctor looked rather taken aback by my blunt question. His response was reasonable, I suppose, since most people ask if their loved one is going to be okay. Not me. I get down to the heart of the matter while other people are only scratching the surface.

"Yes," he responded after a long pause, "He will. However, there is another matter. At the moment, we have him on a ventilator in order to help him breathe-"

I cut him off again.

"What are the chances he'll be able to come off it and live a normal life?"

Again, the doctor looked taken aback. You'd think he would have gotten used to it by now, but apparently not.

"It depends on his will to live." he paused, waiting for me to interrupt again. I didn't. "If Mr. Stabler fights to survive, he will. If not, well..." he trailed off, leaving me to form my own answer.

"Can I see him?"

"Well, he's not conscious at the moment, and will need considerable time to rest-" he caught the glare I was sending in his direction and spoke with considerable more speed, "But I suppose you could. But just for a little while."

I shot him a grateful smile and strode into the room he had exited minutes before. I immediately wished I hadn't.

There, lying lifelessly on the bed, was my trusty partner. He had a tube down his throat, keeping him alive, in addition to a wide variety of other tubes and wires stuck in other places. He looked so weak, so frail. I had never seen Elliot like this before, and I never wished to see him like this again.

It really is a horrible thing, to see someone you care so deeply about just lying there, showing no signs of life other than the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the beeping of the EKG monitor. And even those shouldn't have had to be there. It was my fault Elliot was like this. It was my fault he was shot, and if he didn't make it, I would only have myself to blame.

I leaned against the wall for support, closing the door softly behind me. If I hadn't someone might have heard the sobbing. I couldn't help it. Just seeing Elliot like this was too much for me. We worked together, and saw worse things on a daily basis, but it always seemed so much less real when it wasn't someone you know lying close to death on the hospital bed.

It took a while, but eventually I screwed up the courage to move over to the bed. I knew I would regret it, and I did. As bad as Elliot looked from by the wall, he looked even worse up close. His skin was unnaturally pale, and there were dark circles around his eyes. His face looked almost like something a child would wear for Halloween. And that scared me.

Gently, rather reluctantly, I took one of Elliot's hands in mine. It was so limp, so lifeless. For the first time, I wondered - I mean, really wondered - what would happen if Elliot was to die. I couldn't imagine going through life without him there by my side. We were more than just partners, we were friends, and close ones at that. I couldn't just go through my life as if nothing had happened if he wasn't there. Even if he did survive, nothing would ever be the same between us.

If? Where did that come from? Of course he would survive. This is Elliot we're talking about, for God's sake. Elliot, the one who would always make the quip, and cuff the bad guy, almost making a show out of it. Elliot, who would listen to everything I had to say, whether it seemed relevant at the time or not. Elliot, who...

Tears welled up in my eyes again, and again I couldn't stop them from overflowing. I just sat there, holding Elliot's hand as if it was the only thing that would keep him from leaving me, tears streaming down my cheeks. He couldn't die. He just...couldn't.

After what seemed like only a few minutes, but in reality was more like half an hour, a soft knock came at the door. I wiped my eyes and replied with a choked "Yes?"

"It's Munch. Can I come in?"

I nodded, even though he couldn't see it through the door.

"Yeah."

The door opened slowly, and John Munch walked in, trying to hide his shock at the state of health Elliot was in. He didn't do a very good job.

"Wow, he really got it good this time, huh?"

I nodded, reminded yet again that this was all my fault. John seemed to sense what I was thinking and sat down next to me.

"This isn't your fault, Liv. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it."

"But-"

"No. No buts." he put a finger to my lips to silence me. "You're a good cop. Elliot's a good cop. We're all good cops. But sometimes bad things happen to good people. There's nothing we or anybody else can do about it. The only thing we can do is be thankful that it happened to someone who we know will pull through it."

I nodded, tears threatening to overflow.

"Elliot knew what he was getting into when he went out there today. He always knows, and he chooses to do it anyway. That's what he wants, and that's who he is. Nothing, not even this, is going to change that."

"But-"

"Shh. Liv, you could have done nothing differently. The only way this could have been prevented was if both of you just gave up on everything and decided to live under a rock for the rest of your lives. Life contains dangers, Liv, that's just part of it. We face more than most people, but that's our job. We all chose this, and we all knew what was involved when we signed on. Elliot's no exception."

"But..." I trailed off, seeing if John was going to silence me again. When he didn't I continued. "I still can't help but think that this is all my fault."

"Get this through your head, all right? This was not your fault. Elliot knew the risks and chose to take them anyway. He has a fighting spirit, Liv, and he's going to pull through this. I know it, Fin knows it, Cragen knows it, Elliot knows it, but you have to know it. If you don't believe that he can make it, he might not. I know it doesn't seem like he can hear us right now, but he can. He knows what's going on, and I can tell you for sure that he's going to be pissed as hell when he wakes up and finds out that you've been blaming yourself. But he's going to be even more pissed if you don't believe in him. If there's one thing Elliot Stabler hates more than anything - shrinks included - it's being told that you don't think he can do something. And he's going to do everything within his power to prove you wrong, that vindictive little bastard."

I sniffled and gave John a small smile. He smiled back and said,

"See? There we go. Don't look now, but Sleeping Beauty's finally awake. I'll leave you two lovebirds alone."

With that, he stood up and walked back out of the room, leaving me alone with Elliot. Sure enough, Elliot was just beginning to come out of the coma he had been in and was suddenly alert. He calmed down once he saw that it was only me in the room and gave me a confused expression, indicating that he wanted to know what had happened.

I told him, and he looked around for something. The thought came to me that he wanted paper and pen to write on, since that damned tube was still down his throat. I pulled the clipboard chart from the foot of his bed and removed a piece of scrap paper from my pocket, as well as a pen and handed them to him. He wrote for a while, then showed me what he had put down.

"It's not your fault, Liv."

**I'm not really all that happy about the ending, but I'm being kicked off the computer and forced to go to bed, so I might end up changing it tomorrow or sometime. Tell me what you thought, there's this cute little box down there somewhere with "submit review" on it. I think you're all smart enough to figure out what to do from there.**


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